


The Noodle Incident

by bunbunjolras



Series: Noodle Boyfriends [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Height Differences, M/M, unbearable cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunbunjolras/pseuds/bunbunjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Grantaire, Enjolras, and a packet of noodles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Most of the way through his life, Grantaire had hoped he’d finally get that last little growth spurt that would give him just a few more inches so as he was stood almost on a par with his friends - he was 5’3”, and the next shortest of his friends was 5’8”. Well, unless you counted Gavroche, who didn’t even reach five foot yet, but he was still young, and was growing like a weed. There was no doubt in Grantaire’s mind that some day soon he’d be standing next to Gavroche and would have to look up at him, instead of down. The little he knew of his father indicated that he wasn't as short as him, and his mother and sister both towered over him, and had done since he was a child. He had no idea where his conspicuous lack of height came from, but he had to conclude that the universe did, in fact, hate him. 

 

He'd been mistaken for someone much younger than he was on many occasions, which made drinking in bars and buying alcohol and cigarettes from shops difficult, as many people believed he had either manufactured a fake ID or had borrowed one from his older brother, or a similar looking friend. More than once someone had approached him in the street while he was out and about alone and asked him what his mother would say if she knew he was smoking - his most common response was "She'd ask if I could spare her one, now fuck off." This continued even past his 20th birthday, but those sorts of comments were beginning to disappear slowly now that he had perfected a hostile glare that kept strangers at bay. 

 

His irritation with his lack of height came to a head one afternoon when he was in the supermarket staring up at a pack of noodles on the top shelf. He’d never wanted a pack of noodles so much in his life, chicken flavoured with little bits of freeze dried peppers, but no matter how much he stretched and reached for them, he just wasn’t tall enough to even brush his fingers against them. He tried jumping to get them, and then standing on the bottom shelf, but apparently this supermarket was conspiring against those lacking in height who wanted things from high up. 

 

He growled to himself in frustration and, after shooting the top shelf a truly murderous glare, turned away, scowling, only to bump into someone’s chest, stumbling backwards a little. 

 

"Sorry," he mumbled, stepping aside.

 

"Do you need a hand?" the stranger asked. Grantaire looked up at him, all the way up, absently aware that he was gaping at him. The man was a giant - comparatively speaking, of course, upwards of six feet tall which seemed a whole lot to Grantaire, and he had a slender, cervine beauty about him. Grantaire's first instinct was to glare at him until he left, marginally offended that someone so tall stand in his presence, but then he realised the man was smiling softly at him, entirely unthreatening and angelic, and it helped that he looked like something out of a fashion magazine. Dark, skin tight jeans, fed down into loosely-laced black boots, and a sinfully tight red vest underneath an open black shirt.

 

"No. I mean, yes," he mumbled. He was stunning - beautiful, in fact - with high, sharp cheekbones, pale skin, pink lips and long, golden hair that curled forwards over his shoulder in a single, thick ringlet. "I just - I can’t reach the top shelf."

 

"Oh," the man murmured, before stepping around Grantaire and easily picking a pack of noodles from the top shelf. "These ones?" he asked, and didn't even have to put in too much effort to raising his arm to pick a pack of the noodles Grantaire had wanted from the top shelf.

 

"Thanks," he responded, blushing a little as their fingers brushed together briefly as he took the package from him. He dropped them into his basket and began to turn away.

 

"Enjolras," the man said.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"I'm sorry, that's my name. It’s Enjolras." He offered his hand, and Grantaire took it, shaking it briefly. "My friends say I'm a bit blunt at the best of times, and I really don't know just how to handle myself around attractive people," he babbled. "I'm sorry. I'll start again. My name is Enjolras."

 

"Grantaire." He clutched the basket closely to him and looked up at Enjolras. "You’re really, really tall,” he found himself mumbling. “Like…so tall. All the way up there.”

 

Enjolras smiled at him, only just managing to not look too confused. “Um...thank you, I guess? Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

 

"Yes. I just...you're really tall, and it's kinda awesome. I'm really jealous. Plus you're like...really pretty. Exactly how many people did you have to sacrifice to get to be that pretty?" Grantaire floundered for a moment, unsure of what to say - human sacrifice jokes had a 50/50 chance of going down well, and he was tanking, badly. In the end, he settled for “Do you want to come eat some noodles with me?”

 

Enjolras frowned, and then laughed - it was a glorious sound, and Grantaire wanted to listen to it all night. “I would love that. Sure.”

 

Grantaire did the rest of his shopping in a daze, the model-like man following him around the shop patiently, a few bottles of fruit juice the only things he picked up on his way up and down the rest of the aisles. Grantaire hardly paid any attention to anything else he put in his basket, instead settling for chattering away aimlessly about things that he would later forget about entirely when Enjolras smiled at him, all white teeth and pink lips and dimples that made Grantaire want to cry. 

 

"You're an artist?" Enjolras asked as they were standing in line at the checkouts. 

 

"Yeah, I'm a student at the art school," Grantaire explained, placing his basket down and unloading his noodles, ketchup, detergent and bread. "I'm in my final year, which is good because I only have a few hours of classes a week, but also bad because I have to do my final project, and it's not going well so far."

 

Enjolras was gazing at Grantaire in awe when he turned back around, his eyes bright and round. "That's so amazing. I've never been very creative, I'm so jealous! Can I see some of your work?"

 

Grantaire blushed again, scratching at the back of his head nervously. "It's not that good. I've got a few finished pieces, I suppose you could see them. My final piece isn't anywhere near finished though, I just can't seem to pull it all together."

 

"What is it?" 

 

"It's a massive oil painting of a scene from French history. I've sketched out what I want to do about a hundred times but I just can't get it to look right yet. Maybe a fresh eye would help." He handed over the money for his purchases and they headed out of the shop, Grantaire leading the way back to his apartment. Enjolras made certain to walk slowly so as Grantaire could keep up with him, and they were a few blocks from Grantaire's apartment when an arm slipped through his, and he looked up to see Enjolras looking away with a faint air of panic, his face flushed pink. Grantaire smiled and gripped at his arm a little more closely. 

 

Grantaire was sure his face was going to be flushed for the rest of his life, every time he looked at Enjolras or saw him smile he blushed again, feeling a little giddy, until he didn't need to look in the mirror to know that his whole face was red and his chest probably was too. After an hour or so of talking, Grantaire remembered that he had noodles to cook, and he was standing in front of the hob with a wooden spoon in his hands when a pair of slender hands slid around his chest, and Enjolras pressed himself up behind him gently, stooping down a little to rest his chin on the top of Grantaire's head gently. 

 

"Hello," Grantaire murmured, leaning back against him. 

 

"Hi," Enjolras whispered back.

 

Grantaire had never, in his whole life, been as happy as he was in that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras' version of events.

'he's swearing at the noodles this time', Enjolras tapped out on his phone, sending the message quickly to his friend as he watched the man with the noodles. He was hiding out at the end of the aisle by the special offer tins of soup, and he felt very, very much like a stalker. He'd seen the man before, once in the store they were in now, when he'd spent a whole lot longer than was probably necessary trying to decide over one expensive bottle of whiskey or two cheaper ones, and once when Enjolras had hopped on a bus in the pouring rain and ended up standing right behind him, literally head and shoulders above him, and had seen his sketchpad over his shoulder. In the twenty minutes or so he stood behind him before the other man had gotten off the bus, Enjolras had watched him sketch an adorable yawning kitten, a cocktail with very realistic beads of condensation clinging to the surface of the glass, and what appeared to be himself pulling his hair out, with the text "fuck the june rebellion" scribbled beside it.

 

It was entirely a coincidence, and a fortunate one at that, that Enjolras found himself rounding a corner to pick up some microwaveable pasta and sauce, since he couldn't cook at all, and then backtracking so quickly he almost knocked an old lady down when he saw the man scowling up at the packs of noodles.

 

'Go talk to him,' Combeferre sent back quickly. 'Say hi.'

 

'how? he's so cute, im flustered just thinking about approaching him. why did he have to be here today? i just want some pasta.'

 

The man was, in a word, gorgeous. A lot shorter than Enjolras himself, though who wasn’t, he thought bitterly to himself. His jeans were paint stained, as was his loose fitting t-shirt that couldn’t disguise the muscles of his arms or the general wiry, athletic quality of his body. He was wearing a woolen beanie littered with holes, through which his wild black hair poked at random. His face was shadowed and scruffy with a few days growth of beard and rings under his eyes from too much drink or not enough sleep, but there was something that Enjolras couldn't put his finger on that just made him seem more vibrant and electric than anyone else he'd seen in a long time. It helped, of course, that Enjolras saw a sliver of his toned abdomen when he made another failed attempt to retrieve some noodles, and he wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers - oh, okay, his tongue - across his toned belly.

 

'Just go up to him and say hello. If you don't and I have to hear you whine about it for weeks I'm going to hunt him down and bring him to you. Go. Say. Hello.'

 

Combeferre was being mean but he had a point, Enjolras thought as he slipped his phone away. After a moment to steel himself, he turned and headed down the aisle, and was just a few paces away from the shorter man when he turned and walked headlong into Enjolras, rebounding a little and taking a few steps to steady himself.

 

"Sorry," the man mumbled, and even his voice was gorgeous.

 

'Say hi!' Combeferre's voice shrieked in his head. 'Just say hello!'

 

What came out of his mouth instead was "Do you need a hand?"

 

Enjolras had to repress a shiver as the man looked up at him with something akin to awe in his eyes, which only served to make Enjolras blush and want to run away and hide for no apparent reason other than because someone he had a crush on looked his way. He was pathetic.

 

"No. I mean, yes. I just - I can't reach the top shelf." He sounded so thoroughly frustrated that Enjolras wanted to cuddle him there and then in the middle of the supermarket to make him feel a little better.

 

"Oh," he responded, intelligently. "These ones?" he asked, reaching up for a pack of chicken noodles, pretending he didn't know exactly which brand and flavour he'd been trying valiantly to reach for the last few minutes.

 

"Thanks," he responded, and for a brief, glorious moment, their fingers brushed together as he took the pack of noodles, and Enjolras had to hold back an incredibly inelegant screech of delight. And then, to his horror, the man began to turn away.

 

'Do something!' his inner Combeferre screamed at him.

 

"Enjolras," he ended up blurting out, and the man looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"I'm sorry," he babbled pathetically, thrusting his hand at the man to shake and hating himself more and more by the minute for being a massive idiot. "That's my name. It's Enjolras. My friends say I'm a bit blunt at the best of times, and I really don't know just how to handle myself around attractive people. I'm sorry. I'll start again. My name is Enjolras."

 

"Grantaire," he responded eventually, and he smiled, really, properly smiled, and Enjolras would later swear to Jehan that in that moment he finally understood what all the songs and the poems were about. "You're really tall. Like...so tall. All the way up there."

 

Was that a good thing? Dear god he hoped it was. "Um...thank you, I guess? Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

 

"Yes. I just...you're really tall, and it's kinda awesome. I'm really jealous. Plus you're like...really pretty. Exactly how many people did you have to sacrifice to get to be that pretty?" Grantaire looked horrified at what he'd just said, but Enjolras lifted a hand to his mouth to cover his inelegant snort of laughter. And then, the most glorious ten words Enjolras had ever heard strung together in his life. “Do you want to come eat some noodles with me?”

 

A nervous, relieved laugh bubbled up through him and he almost wept with joy. "I would love that. Sure."

 

Grantaire had to finish shopping still, so Enjolras was content to follow him around the shop and fire off a few frantic texts to Combeferre.

 

'going to his house for noodles. do i even like noodles?'

 

'will be home late, don't wait up. if i'm not back in the morning he's murdered me. don't let them put him in prison he's too pretty for that.'

 

'i'm freaking out how do people do this so often?'

 

A few minutes later his phone buzzed again and he had a string of messages from his friends.

 

Jehan: 'my little baby, all grown up and hooking up at the supermarket. so proud'

 

Combeferre: 'You like noodles but nothing too spicy or you'll be sick later on'

 

Courfeyrac: 'GOOD LUCK MY CHILD.'

 

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and followed Grantaire around the rest of the shop and up to the checkout. The journey back to Grantaire's apartment took around 20 minutes and it was about halfway that Enjolras finally summoned up the courage to slip his arm through Grantaire's, terrified that he might be pushed away, but when he felt fingers curling around his wrist he relaxed a little, and leaned into Grantaire's warmth with a happy sigh.


End file.
